


Hired Guns

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Captain America (Movies), DCU, Justice League (2017), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Superman - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, F/M, Guns, MCU/DCU crossover, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: The last place you expected to find yourself was in a hostage situation deep in the bowels of Bogota. Of course, your wealthy father hires the best mercenary team in the world to rescue you. But when the mission goes wrong, you find yourself stranded with Clark Kent and Steve Rogers, two of the best and most frightening mercenaries in the world. Mercenaries with a secret they’ll do anything to keep.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 38





	1. The Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Marvel/DC crossover AU. I have never been in the military, so I’m sure I’ve taken some liberties with some of the lingo and descriptions. Your understanding is appreciated. 

Six days.

It had been six days since you’d been snatched off the streets of Bogota and locked in this filthy basement. Six days since you’d spoken to your father on the phone, crying, tears streaking the dirt on your face, begging him to just  _ pay the ransom and get you the fuck out of there _ .

Six days.

The door slammed into the wall, startling you. You scrambled upright, pushing yourself into the corner, your bound hands held out in front of you. One of your captors - you didn’t know his name - took hold of the ropes tied around your wrists and yanked you to your feet. He didn’t say a word, just dragged you, stumbling and tripping, from the room and down a short hallway to another larger room. In the center of it sat a table, a chair, and a laptop. He shoved you into the chair, his hand on your shoulder, squeezing until tears were flowing down your cheeks.

“Talk to your father,” a voice in the corner growled. You couldn’t see who was speaking.

“D-daddy?” you mumbled, looking around the room, expecting your father to magically appear out of nowhere.

A computer in the center of the table lit up and your father’s face appeared on the screen. Tony Stark, the billionaire tech giant, the entrepreneur, the philanthropist, the man you called dad.

“Y/N, sweetheart, thank God,” he muttered.

“Daddy, when are you -”

“Proof of life, Mr. Stark, just as you requested,” the man in the corner of the room said, cutting you off. “Now, wire the money. Time is up.”

“Damn right it is,” your father said, just before the man standing beside you fell to the floor with a loud thump, his hand clamping down on your shoulder and dragging you to the floor with him. 

You screamed when you saw the small wound in the center of his forehead and the gaping hole in the back of his head, blood pooling beneath him, soaking into your jeans and the rope around your wrists, staining your hands.

The man in the corner yelled something in a language you didn’t understand, then he was on the floor, grabbing you by the leg and pulling you toward the door. You scrambled to get away, your nails scraping against the floor, but another one of your captors appeared at the door, hauled you to your feet, and ran back down the hall, dragging you behind him. He shoved you into the room they’d been keeping you in and slammed the door, the lock sliding into place.

Seconds later, all hell broke loose.

Gunfire erupted outside, windows breaking all over the building. An explosion rocked the foundation, literally, sending you tumbling to the ground, again. You crawled across the floor, mumbling and cursing under your breath, not stopping until you were in the corner with your arms over your head. Muffled shouts came from outside your door; you were sure you heard your name several times. You squeezed your eyes closed and prayed for the first time since you were a little girl.

The door exploded, chunks of wood flying through the room; one the size of a pencil embedded itself in your leg. You screamed and fell to the ground, clutching your thigh.

“Rogers?”

“I got her! Call the chopper!”

You looked up through half-closed eyes to see a tall, muscular blonde dressed like a soldier shoving a gun into a holster on his leg. He bent over you, his blue eyes locking on yours.

“Are you Tony’s daughter?” he asked.

You nodded weakly, another explosion making you jump, a startled squeak leaving you.

“Ms. Stark, I’m here to help you. Your father sent us. we’re gonna get you out of here.” He examined your leg, shot a look over his shoulder, then he reached over and plucked the chunk of wood from your thigh. Once it was out, he picked you up, hugged you to his chest. spun around, and shouldered his way through the broken door. You closed your eyes and pressed your face to his chest as he ran through the building. You didn’t know why, but for some reason, you trusted him. He made you feel safe.

“Kent! What’s the status of that chopper?”

“Landing now,” a disembodied voice replied. “One hundred yards due west. Do you have the package?”

“Affirmative. I need cover.”

“Copy that.”

The light suddenly changed, brightening as you came out of the building, nearly blinding you after six days spent in a dark basement. You buried your face deeper in your rescuer’s chest and pressed a hand to the side of your face, blocking out as much light as possible. You could hear the sound of a helicopter in the distance, as well as gunfire and shouting, though it seemed miles away. You were moving ridiculously fast, considering that this man was in full tactical gear and carrying you. You wanted to look, wanted to see what was happening behind you, but you couldn’t, wouldn’t, terrified of what you might see.

The man - Rogers? - slid to a stop, the sound of the helicopter now unbelievably loud as you were gently laid on the floor, so loud you covered your ears, your eyes still squeezed closed. You didn’t open them even when the helicopter rose into the air, the sound of gunfire following it.

“She good?” the other voice you’d heard asked.

“Haven’t had a chance to ask her,” the man you thought was named Rogers replied. “Let’s get her out of here and then we’ll assess her injuries.”

You felt the helicopter lifting off the ground and for the first time in six days, you thought you might actually make it home. Until you heard the explosion and the helicopter tipped sideways, your body sliding across the floor. A hand clamped down on your leg and held tight.

“Clark!”

“I got it!”

You opened your eyes for the first time since leaving the basement and what you saw scared the hell out of you. The world was spinning, flames licking at the door of the helicopter. The tall blonde, Rogers, was sitting next to you, his hand around your leg, holding onto you. Another man, this one even more muscular with dark, curly hair was climbing out of the pilot’s seat and stripping off a flak jacket and then, he jumped out of the helicopter. A second later, the world stopped spinning and the flames disappeared. The helicopter dropped to the ground, the scream of metal crashing against the earth ringing in your ears. The blonde picked you up and jumped free of the smoking debris, setting you on your feet, his arm around your waist.

“Wh-where are we?” you mumbled, leaning on him for support.

“The rain forest,” the blonde muttered. He carefully lowered you to the ground under a tree, then he pressed a button on the walkie on his shoulder. “Barton? You copy?” He waited, tapping his fingers impatiently against his leg. “Kent, do  _ you _ copy?”

“I’m right here.” The man you’d seen jump out of the helicopter stepped out from behind it, wiping his hands against his shirt. “Everything good?”

“Comms are down. Chopper, too.”

“No shit, dickhead,” the guy named Kent chuckled. “You’re welcome by the way.”

“For what?” the blonde scoffed.

“Saving your ass. Again.”

“Excuse me,” you interjected, “but who the hell are you guys? And how are you not dead? I saw you jump out of the helicopter. How the hell are we not all dead?”

They exchanged a look, then they turned to you in unison, almost identical smirks and raised eyebrows on their faces. The blonde walked over and crouched in front of you.

“My name is Steve Rogers and that buffoon over there is Clark Kent,” he explained. “Your father hired us.”

“My father hired you? But, aren’t you military?”

“Not exactly,” Clark said, stepping forward. “We’re...independent contractors.”

“Mercenaries,” you clarified. “Of course.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asked.

“My father can’t do anything the easy way,” you mumbled. “Instead of paying the ransom to get me out and save my ass, he sends in a bunch of brainless former army assholes to bust me out. Typical.”

Clark took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest, his brow furrowed. Steve shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Paying the ransom wouldn’t have saved your life, sweetheart,” he sighed. “It would have just sped up how soon you died.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means they weren’t going to let you walk, Ms. Stark.,” Steve explained. “As soon as they got their money, you would have been dead. We’re here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“I don’t believe that,” you murmured.

“Believe what you want, doll,” Steve said, rising to his feet. “All you need to know is that we’re the best and if you want to stay alive, you’ll do as we say.” He glanced over his shoulder at Clark. “We need to get moving. They know we went down, they’re going to come looking. Comms are down, so we need an extraction point. One the team will know.” 

“You try your phone?” Clark asked, yanking his from his pocket. He tapped the screen several times and held it to his ear. After a few seconds, he sighed heavily and stabbed the end button. A few more taps to his screen and then he was turning slowly in a circle, coming to a stop with his back to you and Steve.

“We’ve got a safe house, five clicks into the rain forest,” Clark said, pointing the way he was facing.

“Of course it’s in the rain forest,” Steve grumbled. “Romanoff and Barton can’t do anything easy.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “We better move.” He turned to look at you. “Can you walk?”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, looking pointedly at the wound on your leg. Your pant leg was soaked with blood and it hurt to move it. There was no way you could walk five kilometers on it. “I don’t think I can walk that far. Not with this wound.”

This time it was Clark who crouched in front of you. He grabbed your leg, holding it gently while he poked and prodded the area around the wound.

“Hey Steve, grab the first aid kit from the chopper, would you?” he said. “If it survived.”

Steve jogged over to the still burning wreckage, returning after a couple of minutes with a large first aid kit in his hands. He handed it to Clark then he returned to the helicopter and began rummaging around.

Clark opened the kit and grabbed a roll of bandages. He wrapped it around your leg, tight, and tied it off. “That’s going to have to do for now,” he said. “I’ll take a closer look at it once we get to the safe house.”

“Ready?” Steve asked. He was wearing a huge backpack and carrying two duffel bags in his hands. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat, despite the heat and what you suspected were very heavy bags.

“Yeah,” Clark said, rising to his feet. He extended his hand, which you took. “She’s not walking anywhere though, not on that leg.” He turned around and looked over his shoulder at you. “I’ll carry you. Come on.”

“What, like, piggyback?” you muttered. “Seriously?”

Clark turned to look at you, his arms crossed over his substantial chest. “I don’t have time to argue with you, Ms. Stark. Either you let me carry you to the safe house or you let your captors grab you and take you back into captivity so they can kill you. Your choice.”

“Fine,” you mumbled. You hopped forward on one leg and put your hands on Clark’s shoulders. He grabbed your thighs and hefted you up, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. He was thick, solid, like being wrapped around a brick pillar or something.

“Alright, let’s move,” Clark said.

Steve stepped in front of you, disappearing into the trees. Clark took one last look at the fallen helicopter, then he followed Steve, with you on his back.


	2. Stranded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don’t get along with your rescuers. Well, one of them anyway.

“Let’s take a better look at that leg,” Clark said. “Can you...uh, I, uh, need you out of those jeans?”

“Is that a request or an order?” you muttered, shifting uneasily on the tattered couch he’d set you on.

“It’s a request,” Steve interjected. “You know, Ms. Stark, we aren’t the enemy here. We’re trying to help you.”

“This doesn’t feel like help. Help would have been getting me home to my family. Help would have been getting me out of this hellhole. All you’ve done is get me injured and strand me in the middle of the jungle. I don’t call that help.”

“We could have left you to die,” Steve growled. “Let you bleed out in the rainforest or die in a helicopter crash. We’re trying to save you and ourselves. You might want to remember that before you act like a spoiled brat.” He spun on his heel and stomped out the door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the walls.

It was like a slap to your face. You sat back, stunned at yourself. These men had saved your life and you had just thrown a fit.

“He’s right, you know,” Clark murmured gently. “We’re just trying to help.”

“I know,” you sighed. “I’m sorry.” You fought back the tears threatening to fall. You’d cried more in the last week than you had in your entire life. You weren’t normally emotional, but there was something about being kidnapped, held hostage, tortured, starved, nearly dying in a helicopter crash, and escaping into the rainforest that had messed with your psyche. 

“Can I...can I have a minute?” you asked.

“Sure,” Clark nodded. He followed Steve outside.

You waited until the door closed quietly behind him, then you slapped a hand over your mouth, bent your head, and let the tears come. Every emotion that had been building inside of you for the last six days burst out of you. You sobbed, sobbed until your head pounded and your throat ached. You just wanted to go home. You dragged in a stuttering breath and pushed yourself to your feet. You struggled out of your jeans, wincing at the way the blood-soaked denim clung to your skin. You snatched a blanket off the back of the couch and threw it over your lap. You couldn’t even look at the wound on your thigh; it looked deep and ugly.

The door opened and Steve entered, Clark right behind him. They dumped the bags on the floor and knelt beside them. Steve pulled out a canteen, which he filled with water, and Clark grabbed the first aid kit. He sat on the edge of the couch beside you.

“May I?” he asked, pointing at your leg.

You nodded, biting your tongue as he lifted your leg and laid it across his lap. You had to bite your tongue when Clark started cleaning it, but it wasn’t easy to keep a painful moan from escaping.

“It needs stitches,” Clark said. “And I can’t guarantee that it won’t get infected. The sooner we can get you to a hospital, the better.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not happening right away,” Steve growled, tossing a large, chunky phone on the table. “The goddamn satellite phone isn’t working.”

“What?” Clark snapped.

“It’s not working,” Steve repeated. “And there’s no cell service in the middle of the Amazon. We’re going to have to wait for the team to find us. So much for Wayne’s high tech toys. How the hell does a fancy, super-expensive satellite phone not work?”

“Bruce’s team designed it,” Clark scoffed. “Probably didn’t test it, just threw it at Bruce, who then threw it at us.”

“Yeah, well, when a client’s life depends on it, we can’t be his guinea pigs. We need shit that works.”

“You’re right,” Clark nodded. “I’ll talk to him when we’re back.”

“If we get back,” Steve muttered. He pushed a hand through his hair before once again going out the door, his muffled curses floating through the air.

Clark shook his head and licked his lips. “Let’s get that leg taken care of,” he murmured.

* * *

It took thirty minutes and a lot of tears on your part to get your leg stitched up and tightly bandaged. You were lying on the couch, your leg propped on a dusty pillow, half-asleep thanks to the pain pill Clark had given you.

Now that you had a minute to breathe, you let your eyes drift around the room, taking in your surroundings. The “safe house” was little more than a hut; one room with a fireplace, a hot plate, a sink, a couple of cabinets, the tattered, lumpy couch you were lying on, a wobbly table, two chairs, and a large chest. Steve had opened the chest a few minutes ago, pulling out more blankets, the dusty pillow, and a couple of sleeping bags. 

Clark appeared in front of you. “Hungry?”

You hadn’t even thought about food. You were actually surprised; you’d survived on crackers and water for six days. You would have thought that the only thing on your mind would have been food. 

You nodded and struggled to sit upright. Clark shoved whatever was in his hand into Steve’s then he carefully slipped an arm around your back and helped you.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

Steve handed you a canteen of water and the food while Clark advised you to take it slow, reminding you that it had been a while since you’d had a real meal. Despite the pain in your leg and the overwhelming exhaustion that seemed to have taken over your body, you managed to eat a little bit of the food and drink some water. When you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer, you set the bowl and canteen on the floor, pulled the blanket over yourself, and promptly fell asleep.

Hours later you woke to the sound of voices. It took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the darkness in the room, but once they did, you could see Steve and Clark sitting at the table, talking, their voices low, conspiratorial.

“If I leave now, I can be back before dawn,” Clark said. “I’ll go straight to the ship, get Barton and Curry to get a rescue mission going, then I’ll come right back. She won’t even know I’m gone.”

“But what if she wakes up and you’re gone? How am I supposed to explain that?”

“Make something up,” Clark shrugged. “You figure it out, just like we’ve been figuring it out for years.” 

“You know I hate crap like that,” Steve muttered. “The lying and deception weigh on me.”

“You don’t think it bugs me?” Clark snorted. “But, we don’t have a choice. We can’t sit here waiting for them to find us.”

“We can for another twenty-four hours,” Steve shot back. “If we can’t get the sat phone working or they haven’t shown up to get us, you go. For now, we sit tight and wait.”

Clark rose to his feet and gave Steve a half-hearted salute. “Aye, aye, Captain,” he mumbled. “I’m gonna go get some air. Check the perimeter.” He left and a few seconds later you heard a loud whooshing sound, then silence.

You watched Steve as he dropped onto one of the sleeping bags with a heavy sigh, one arm thrown over his eyes. You could just see the rise and fall of his chest in the dim light cast by the small lantern on the table and you couldn’t help but wonder what his story was. Mercenaries always had a story.

“Captain Rogers?” you whispered.

He propped himself up on one elbow. “You can call me Steve,” he said. “How long have you been awake?”

“Just a few minutes,” you murmured. “Where’s Lieutenant Kent?”

“Clark? He needed some air. He’ll be back.”

“What’s going to happen to us?” you asked. “Are we going to get out of this?”

“Don’t you mean are  _ you _ going to get out of this?” Steve snorted, pushing himself upright. “You couldn’t care less about whether or not Clark and I walk away from this. You only care if you make it out of here in one piece.”

“That’s not true -”

“It’s very true. I know your history, Ms. Stark. You’re the consummate selfish, bad girl, always in trouble, always looking out for number one. According to your file, you don’t give a shit about anyone other than yourself. The only reason you came to Bogota on your supposed peacekeeping mission is that your father didn’t want you to come. Apparently, you do the exact opposite of what your daddy tells you to do.”

“You don’t know shit about me,” you snapped.

“I’ve met a hundred girls like you,” Steve muttered, lying back down. “The only person that matters in your world is you. Feigning that you care about anyone other than yourself is just condescending. You have a track record, Ms. Stark.”

“Like I said, Captain Rogers, you don’t know shit about me.” You pulled the blanket up and rolled over to face the back of the couch, despite the pain in your leg. You weren’t going to defend yourself and your choices to someone you barely knew.

You heard the door close across the room, but you didn’t bother to turn around. You heard Clark and Steve talking, but you couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Not that it mattered, it was probably more cryptic crap or talk of what a selfish brat you were.

You wanted to go home.


End file.
